Inner Turmoil: the Ethics of Cacoethes
by Nathalie Andrews
Summary: When Lucifer rises, the world is on the brink of its destruction. Can the righteous man stop the apocalypse, and how much is he destined to lose in the process? Warning:Slash:Dean/Cass. Rated T for violence, language and some torture in later chapters.
1. Losing my Messiah

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor its characters, neither do I profit from this piece of fan fiction. All the honor (and the cash) go to Kripke and the CW channel._**

**This is a sequel to the story Dangerous Notions, but if you haven`t read it, or haven`t bothered, you can still read this :) **

* * *

The story thus far: 

Sam's addiction got the best of him, and he went on a rampage, killing vessels of several angels with his new powers, a dark journal from an unknown source, and Ruby's knowledge. He was captured by Castiel and Uriel, in a battle where Ruby was killed, and Dean brought him to Bobby in hope that his brother would survive the withdrawal.

Dean's relationship with Castiel developed further, and while they were together, Sam escaped with the help of unknown forces. Now he is out there, somewhere, building up his anger towards the angels, the demons and even the brother he feels has betrayed him.

* * *

Chapter I

**Losing my Messiah**

… … …

_"I will ascend above the heights of the clouds;  
I will be like the Most High (Elyon).'  
Yet thou shalt be brought dow to the nether-world,  
To the uttermost parts of the pit."_

- Isaiah 14:12-15 –

… … …

They were standing directly opposite of each other, both staring at the others face. Dean Winchester, incapable of accepting just how rotten destiny could be, was at that moment desperate to regain his hold on what a mere day ago had been burning between them. It felt painfully clear to him how screwed his priorities were, but hell was breaking lose, again, and it had suddenly gripped him how important that comfort, that anchor which kept him from drowning in the current really was. He had a brother out there, hunted down by the legions of Lucifer to bring upon them a freaking apocalypse, and one of his best friends, Bobby Singer, was nowhere to be found.

"What are you saying, Cass?"

There was an icy fear spreading through the bottomless pit inside him. How could everything go wrong, so goddamned fast? They were all leaving him, one by one. The thought of being left alone in the darkness of it all, was almost scarier than anything else he could think of. At that moment he'd rather have an apocalypse if it meant that he'd get to keep his brother, and his very own guardian angel.

How's that for a friggin` hero?

He swallowed and looked straight into the Prussian blue eyes of the angel that had given him something he really couldn't even explain, just to tear it away again.

"I might have lost my brother, and Bobby, and now you're leaving? Just packin` up, all ready to go, huh?"

"Dean…"

As rare as it occurred, Castiel had difficulties finding the right words. So much had happened between them that he didn't know heads or tails of his own emotions anymore. Angels didn't feel emotions. Not like humans. Yet still they existed inside of him, strangling his soul in a firm grip. He narrowed his eyes and walked towards the man in front of him, who was almost shaking with fear and anger.

"We failed, Dean. Your brother didn't stop using his powers, and at the moment, even though he is not aware of it himself, he has both demons and angels on his side. The hunger, that craving inside of him, will drive Sam into the very arms of Lucifer. If he willingly gives himself away, if he makes that last sacrifice, then the last seal breaks, and all is lost."

Castiel stopped abruptly when Dean raised his hand, palm up in front of him. The hand shaped itself into a pointed finger, directed at the chest of the angel.

"We are talking about my brother!" He sneered at Castiel, who gave him a look of uttermost sadness and fatigue.

"I have to save him, Cass! I just have to, and I can't do this alone…"

He swallowed, and gave the angel a sideways nod.

"…which brings us back to the same shitty crapstickle, about you actually leaving me, in the middle of this friggin` mess, now that I actually might need you."

Despite his harsh tone and rejecting body language there was a pleading look in the hazel eyes, and it told the angel that there was nothing Dean more from him than to be cradled in his warm arms, hidden from everything out there.

Castiel sighed deeply, and broke the auditory connection between them.

"I know, Dean. If I could, as you would say, fix this, then I would, but that power does not lie with me. You should know, I do not wish to leave. They have called me back. The garrison is gathering for war, and they have demanded that I retreat from the field. When I require the information you seek, I will see to it that you are told what you need to know."

Dean almost snorted. This was priceless.

That is what you are paid with, if you trust someone after giving up the goods.

"Right, in other words, you'll call!

I've heard that one before, hell, I've used that line so many times myself that I guess it was just about time I got it thrown in my own face. Why don't you take your garrison and shove it up where the lights don't shine. I am going out there to find my brother, and if I am killed in the process, don't bother looking me up. I'll be in my nice and cozy little hell-hole, wishing you good luck on this whole apocalypse-gig."

Castiel`s forehead creased deeply and the frustration he felt was tremendous as Dean walked hurriedly past him towards the door.

"Dean, wait …"

Castiel reached out for him.

The tip of his fingers almost touched the sleeve of Dean's leather-jacket before he was out of reach, and disappeared out through the door. It slammed shut, and the angel was left standing there alone, in the trashed-up kitchen of the currently missing Bobby Singer. Castiel could have gone after him. He could have gotten to the car in a blink of an eye. But he didn't.

… … …

The impala was parked in the overgrown driveway; the black varnish gleamed in spite of the dim light from the clouded sky. A paper and a gun lay on the passenger-seat next to him as Dean entered with a hand on the steering wheel, the other closing the car-door when he had sat down.

Despite his rapid departure from the house, instead of turning the key in the ignition Dean just sat there, staring at the wreck of a busted car on the other side of the car's front-window. Quietly he realized that he didn't know where to go. There were no more sanctuaries for him out there. Not a single human being he could turn to. The despair settled in his chest and he found himself choking on it. At least when he had clawed his way out of hell, he had known that someone would be out there. He had known exactly where to turn. Now those bridges were burned and he was supposed to make it on his own. Dean Winchester had never functioned well alone, it wasn't his style. He swallowed, as a salty tear ran slowly down his chin.

"I guess it's just you and me now, baby."

He shook his head, took a deep breath and then he frowned. Maybe there was someone else.

*.*.*


	2. Blind and Broken

**_Disclaimer: I STILL does not own Supernatural, nor the characters, nor am I making money on this. It`s only fan fiction!_ **

* * *

Chapter II

**Blind and Broken**

… … …

A very special thought struck Sam Winchester as he was driving recklessly far above the speed limit, in a 1973 Plymouth Duster. When one sticks a pin into the eye of a bird, it loses all form of depth vision and its sense of direction. If one then let it fly, it will collide with the nearest tree and die.

He didn't remember where the image had come from, but it was followed by another; a girl in a white dress with silver needles stuck in what had been a pair of cornflower blue eyes. Or perhaps they had been nougat brown. He shook his head. His vision had begun to go blurry, the road in front of him sliding out of focus. Something was running from his nose and blood was smeared on the back of his hand as he wiped it across his face. When the horrible shivers came back, worse then they ever had earlier, the hunger crashed down into the centre of his chest, making him yearn for the release her blood had given him. He began hyperventilating at the memory of her dead body, and the car almost ran off the road as it went into a sharp curve. Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, falling into the car-door, almost reaching for the handle.

"I wouldn't open that door, Sam Winchester. You'd be gravely injured."

The words were carried by a calm and tranquil voice, belonging to a seemingly young man that was now riding shotgun next to him. His eyes were nougat-brown. Just like the girl's. Or had the girl's been blue? Sam just couldn't remember. There was a slightly reddish tint to the dark brown of the man's hair, despite of his almost Hispanic features.

"The girl... You don't remember who she was, because the demon blood cuts you off from everything you knew. It is slaughtering the human fragments of your soul. You see, this human carriage isn't what he needs. What he needs is a vessel, of another sort. An empty shell; which is strong enough, adjusted to his essence. You are being made into a human incubator for his soul. It will live inside you, feed on the last drops of your humanity, until he truly rises."

He was speaking very slowly, and as he finished, Sam believed without a doubt that he was telling the truth.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sam's voice was shaking with fear, but it wasn't fear for his life, it wasn't even fear for his soul. The only thing he really feared in his current situation was that the stranger would stop him from getting what he needed.

The man lifted his head and stared at Sam, not blankly, but radiating with a pure form of nothingness, filled with peace and utter silence, sprung from the feet of a paradox. It made Sam's head spin, but his breath slowed down nevertheless, along with the wild drumming of his heart.

"My name is Raphael."

He leaned in closer, a movement that in some corner of Sam's mind reminded him strongly of Castiel, although there was something quite softer, almost feminine about the angel's delicate and aesthetic features. He continued, with a voice soft as fresh summer grass;

"And the girl you were hallucinating about was your old lover, Jessica, one of the people you've lost to this war."

Something bottled up inside Sam's throat and he almost lashed out in anger. He was over Jessica. Hell, he was even over his dead father, the same father that had told Dean to kill him. The only things left for Sam, were blood and revenge.

"This path you are on will lead not only to your destruction, but to everyone else's as well. And the ones you care about will be the first to fall. They always have, Sam Winchester."

"Which side are you on, huh?" Sam's nostrils widened. "Because I am only going to tell you this once, if you stop me from getting what I need…"

The angel interrupted him.

"I don't stop anyone, Sam. That is not my place. I offer healing, and guidance."

Sam flared at him, eyes blazing with cold anger;

"Then get out, now!"

Raphael hesitated.

"I said; Get out, you winged freak!" Sam reached for the knife, but as he turned back towards the passenger seat, the angel was gone, and so was Ruby's knife. He breathed heavily. A silence hung over the car, making the now loud drumming of his heart all too audible. His knuckles went white as he turned back around, hands clamping on the steering-wheel, moist with cold sweat.

... ... ...

"Pamela?"

Dean shouted her name, standing wary and tense in the empty hallway.

"Oy, Whoopi Goldberg?"

He feared the worst when he didn't get a reply, and pulled his ivory handle gun. There was no sign of struggle, not a single broken glass or trashed furniture. He kept the gun raised and went for the bedroom. The door flew up in his face, so Dean threw himself to the side, pointing the gun at chest-height.

"Whoa!" He could feel the adrenalin running through his body. If he had caught on just a little slower, he would have shot her.

"Dean! What's going on, and what are you doing trying to get into my bedroom?" She paused, the white eyes looking disturbingly unnatural in the very human expression on her face.

"Not that I mind, silly, but grumpy might…"

Dean stiffened, and cleared his throat. It actually felt good seeing her, just a hint of something that had as of late become normal. Well, as normal as you could call a … whatever Pamela was. She had come through for them, more than once and now she was the only one that could help him.

"Oh, my, is it Sam?" She hesitated, and drew something from the bag she was holding in her hands. "I suppose you are here for the same reason that this was placed on my bed just a few minutes ago."

Dean stared at the object in her hands.

"Ruby's knife. It disappeared at the same time as Sam did."

"Disappeared with him, more likely." Pamela added with a slight snort.

He put away the gun and reached for the knife. As she gave it to him, he noticed a deep cut on the back of her hand. She saw the quick glance and smiled somewhat wryly.

"I sliced myself shaving. My mojo isn't what it used to be. It is quite difficult to slaughter a chicken when you have to view it through a pair of glass orbs."

Dean almost smiled, and put the knife away.

"You slaughter chickens? On occasion?"

She winked at him.

"On occasion! Now, let us see what we can do about this brother of yours… He is lost isn't he?"

Pamela sat down near a small oval table, in the middle of the living-room.

"Oh, Sammy is lost alright, and Bobby too." Dean placed his face in his hands and rubbed it up against the trembling fingers as it resurfaced.

"Bobby's lost? What happened to him?" She sounded more worried now. They had been friends for quite some time, Dean didn't know exactly how long. When he didn't answer, she continued.

"On to a different subject, where is your angel friend? I got the impression from Bobby that you two are talking on a regular basis…"

She placed three white candles on the black linen covering the table. A bag of incense lay in a dark ceramic bowl.

"Why, what did he say?" Dean said hurriedly, feeling something burning behind the skin of his cheeks.

Her gaze rose from the candles, which she was now igniting with a porn-covered plastic lighter. Without actually being able to see him, the white eyes circled his face.

"Wow, that sounded quite defensive. What have you and your little angel friend been doing?" She sounded almost amused, although there was a bitter scorn in there somewhere.

"Can we get on with this? Bobby could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and Sam is getting ready to be Lucifer's bitch. I really don't feel like this is the right time for chick chat!"

He was angry now. Not only was he being judged by someone who killed chickens, on occasion, but they were wasting time discussing a subject that was on its own seriously striking a nerve.

"Suit yourself. You know, most people like to talk about their sorrows. But I'll cut through the bull, and just find the answers you want. One last question; why are you not asking your winged hubby about this? Why come to me, when you have an angel at your disposal?"

Dean drew a long breath.

"He dumped me, okay? He had to go off planning the big war, up in heaven. Apparently, during an apocalypse, relationships are a no-no."

"I feel so sorry for you." She said, but didn't sound sorry at all. "You and Sam need to get your heads down and up, and find yourself some girls who are actually human. They don't all die, you know. Some of us go blind instead."

Dean took a deep breath. "Just find Sam. Please?"

She beckoned him to kneel down and raised her hands towards him. As their hands touched and both closed their eyes, the map suddenly caught fire.

Pamela jumped a little, a confused look spreading on her face.

"What?" Dean said, feeling his heart pump twice as hard in his chest.

She hesitated, and then pointed at the only small square of the map that had not been burnt. "I didn't say the incantation." She frowned, and then shook her head. "This is where he is. Go find them, little paper tiger..."

… … …

The two angels watched them in the dim lights of the room, while Dean and the female psychic kneeled down to hold each others hands above the oval table, covered with a map and three burning candles. One of them walked up to the humans and rashly tapped his finger down on the map, which instantly caught fire and burned almost off the table.

They watched Dean Winchester leave the room, before turning towards each other.

A third angel came from the shadows. Castiel looked more worried than ever, and there was a hint of annoyance in the rugged face.

"By punishing me like this, you are risking everything we have fought for. Dean Winchester cannot do what is asked of him alone..."

"Do not be vain, Castiel. This war does not impend upon you, or the connection you have with this human. He will fulfill his destiny, a destiny that you do not even know."

"Michael…"

The third angel was Raphael. There was a softness in the brown eyes, as he watched Castiel`s inner turmoil play out in his face. He took a step forward and placed a hand on his brother`s shoulder.

Castiel turned his head to meet the gentle stare. Raphael was one of few angels whose powers even affected his brothers and sisters. There was a sense of calmness in him, which made what Castiel was feeling diminish. It was such a release that he suddenly tore himself away from it. True emotions had become such a heavy burden, yet Castiel knew that he could never more exist without them. He would not choose to live without the gift that Dean had given him.

"Don't." The word was simple, the meaning was not.

Raphael bent his head and blinked, before turning away. He respected Castiel greatly. The angel of healing had walked among human sorrow and wrath for so long. For an angel to chose willingly what Castiel had chosen, amazed him.

"The human will find its path, and you are forbidden to go near it."

The edge was gone from the archangel's voice, but something else remained.

Raphael gave him another blank stare, which really wasn't particularly blank at all, before he disappeared.

When the other archangel followed, Castiel was left standing alone.

.-.-.-.-.


	3. Better the devil you love!

_**Disclaimer: Don`t own Supernatural, Kriple does! Neither am I making money on this load of fiction.**_

* * *

Chapter III

**Better the devil you love!**

… … …

Sam couldn't move.

He was staring at the almost lifeless body of Bobby, who lay in the corner of the room.

"Sam."

It was a female voice, a very familiar one. He turned around. Ruby was walking towards him. Her eyes sparkled and the ample lips moved seductively.

"You know who I am."

It couldn't be. Sam shook his head. There was barely enough strength in him to keep standing.

"But, you're dead…" He almost sounded like a little boy, towering above the dainty creature walking towards him. She smiled. Her small fingers touched the edge of the wall as she came nearer.

"I don't have to be. I can be yours, for ever."

He drew a shaking breath.

It couldn't be her, but he wanted it so much that the sight of her was almost tearing him apart from within. "I saw them kill you."

There was something bad going on and Sam felt like he was viewing the world with the wrong type of glasses. Still, he didn't care. He just wanted it to be her, aching so horribly for it to really be her.

"I need it." He said, and there were deep wrinkles of pain on his forehead.

"I know you do. You can have it, Sam." Her shrewd smile didn't throw him off. All he saw was the slight curve on each side of her narrow wrists. Sam swallowed and managed to put one leg in front of the other, clawing to be just one step closer to her.

"Come Sam." She was walking backwards now, egging him through the open door, into the next room, towards the bed behind them. "You can have it. Just come to me." Her voice was sweet, touched with something so otherworldly that he almost feared reaching her. As much as the fear deepened the void within him, it cried out to be filled.

He was by her side now.

It smelled like Ruby and felt like her; the demon that had touched him before, in the same way. As he sunk into her arms, hugging her, she looked over his shoulder smiling, nougat eyes going milky-white.

… … …

The sun had finally given in, darkness spreading as the night took its place.

Dean stopped the car. He didn't bother scanning the area, but went straight for his trunk. He pulled out a bottle of holy water and a bag of salt, just in case. The drive had taken hours, and he had to pass two cities and a "long as heck" bridge to reach this place. It lay in the outskirts of a small town, looking like some sort of cabin. The shotgun needed to be refilled, but the shells were scattered amongst the other weapons. It took him several precious minutes to load it.

"Dean…"

He swung around, aiming the shotgun automatically. Then he lowered it, lips tightly shut and nostrils quivering.

"What are you doing here, Cass? Garrison let you off?"

The angel took a deep breath and stared into the hazel eyes in front of him.

"Don't go in there."

Dean shook his head, a muscle pulling at the edge of his nose, as he gave Castiel a look of anger and hurt.

"Why, because God says so? Sam's in there."

"I know."

There really wasn't that much more to say, other than the words that suddenly illegally slipped his lips;

"You can't save him, Dean. You were never meant to."

"Go to hell."

Dean turned around. He didn't need to hear this. Didn't want to hear anything the angel had to say.

Castiel shifted his gaze, turning it downwards. The only thing he wanted was to stop Dean from entering that house. It was also the only thing he couldn't do.

… … …

Heavy curtains drowned the room in shaded velvet.

Blood, black and crimson in the dark room, was splattered on the covered-up walls and the wooden floor. It was everywhere. Dead bodies lay piled in a corner. There was a stench of body fluids and decay in the air.

Sam was standing in the middle of it all, fallen to his knees on a wide bed covered in satin-sheets. A huge silver-framed mirror stood leaned up against the wall in front of him, but he could hardly see his own face in it.

Something obscure floated in front of his eyes. The usually smooth chest was bare, and there were scratch-marks all over it.

Ruby... He could still smell her on him. Where was she? Hadn't he just touched her? His vision became increasingly more blurred, but he didn't feel weak. More like he was losing himself to something inside. Not like before. This time it was different. Not a violent penetration, but a subtle smooth flow of intense energy filling him up inside. He blinked slowly and stretched the bare hands out to his sides. They felt heavy. His knuckles went white as he clenched the fingers into hard fists. Physically his flesh felt more vibrant than ever, and yet, at the same time, a part of his conscious mind was falling asleep. He couldn't even feel himself breathing anymore, but the chest rose and fell steadily still.

Something suddenly burst through the door out in the hallway. Sam turned around slowly. He couldn't control his own movements, but it was too late for fear or panic. As his body rose from the bed, Sam Winchester's mind crumbled. The fragments of what was left of him, was hurled through the nerves and the tissue, into an empty cell hidden in the depths of his soul.

"Sam!"

… … …

When Dean entered the hallway and saw his brother walk slowly out of an open door, covered in blood, not a sign of life in what appeared to be a stranger's face, it felt like his heart suddenly stopped beating. There was a pain so physical;

It clawed him up like inner hellhounds. He could barely breathe and just stood there, like if some hand of God had made him into stone.

"Sammy?" He asked, hoarsely. There was only a faint sign of recognition on his brother's face. The brown eyes seemed almost black, but Dean was sure it was the lack of light. It had to be. Demons could not possess his brother.

Something stirred at his left. He swung around, gun now stretched out towards whatever would appear in the half-dark corner of the hallway. The heavy stench of coagulating blood reached his nostrils, and they widened automatically. His other hand went up towards his nose and covered it from the odor.

"Oh, god..." Dean said, breathing heavily, as the corpse of Bobby Singer came walking jerkingly towards him. He gave Sam a shocked glare.

Sam, if he was still Sam, just stood there staring at him blankly. The only thing left in his face was a hint of undiluted disgust. Dean turned back around and something wet gathered in the corners of his eyes as he saw how badly Bobby had been hurt before he died. Thick drops of blood were sliding down broken fingers, falling from his fingertips to melt into the dark floor. Most of his face was covered by a swollen bruise and someone had shattered his nose and collarbone, so that bits of bone and fragments of gristle were sticking out from the battered skin.

"Sammy…" He repeated numbly.

Tears ruined his vision as they began running down his face, and the edges of his eyes had gone red and sore. The gun was still pointed at Bobby, but he knew that he wasn't capable of pulling the trigger. This wasn't fair. The man was a hero, one that was almost a father to Dean, and yet he had to witness him defiled and demeaned.

Sam made a movement behind him and Dean swung around.

The last thing he saw before his body hit the wall was Sam's eyes, shining in a pale moonlight-blue. Dean slid slowly down to the floor, but didn't feel any fear or anger. Numbness washed over him as he lost consciousness, and the world disappeared behind a veil of darkness.

… … …

Castiel kneeled down and placed a hand on Dean's still moist face, wiping the tears away from the cold cheek with his thumb. There was a look of intense pain in the blue eyes. Only the silence spoke of what had happened in the near empty room, but the angel knew.

Destiny.

Like Dean would say;

It had all gone to hell. A bit of an overstatement, but still... He did understand the meaning of that particular human expression at this point.

While he watched the face of the man on the floor, it dawned on him how he never truly had understood the concept of love. It had simply been an idea, and a human phenomenon he had known how to define. Angels don't love. How can they, when ideas and definitions are the only thing they have ever known? If one never allows oneself to truly feel, to experience emotions on all levels, how can one understand what lies in the depths beside of the simple epitome? He knew better know. Knew that the pain inside him and the fear came from the feelings he had for Dean. Love was euphoria, an addictive alluring sensation his brothers did right in fearing.

Still…

He did love him. Even if it meant rejecting everything that he had held for sacred, there was no way of denying that the only thing he really wanted was to hold the human in his arms. Shelter him from what was out there. Not the human. Dean.

Dean Winchester. When you are above the world, above humanity, it becomes so easy to view everything as simply pieces of a puzzle. The wholeness of the puzzle was lost to him now, because one of the little pieces had pulled him down to the table. Down to that smooth surface, which smelled and felt so more real than anything else had ever done.

This must have been why they had forced him back. This was why he would be punished if he did not keep himself away from the battle that his human would be forced to fight. You cannot be an angel of faith and the divine meaning, if the only thing you care about is wiping tears of a fallen man's face.

Castiel raised his gaze towards what was beyond the dark ceiling above him. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know which prayer would come even close to what he wanted to express. A prayer comes from an angel's soul, not his words. This vessel could not communicate in the way he wanted to, and the cold of the world was almost choking him from believing that he could be heard. Castiel felt like something untouchable was separating him from heaven, from the place he truly belonged to, and even more frightening was the fact that he almost didn't care. That being capable of touching Dean's skin, giving him just a drop of comfort, was worth all the cold and the darkness there was.

However, he knew there was not enough love in the world to stop destiny. It would sweep down upon them, in the form of angels and demons, and tear Dean Winchester apart. They were not going to allow Castiel to save him, even if he could.

Dean stirred, before coughing violently. The hazel eyes opened and he blinked as the world came back to him.

"Where's Sam?" He asked in a rusty voice.

Castiel`s heart sunk. It was an unpleasant sensation.

"It was too late, Dean."

"What are you talking about?"

Dean dragged himself up by a small table standing against the wall behind his back. It couldn't be too late. Not a chance in hell if it could.

Castiel leaned in a little closer.

"Are you physically hurt?"

Physically hurt.

An image of the undead Bobby Singer swam before his eyes. It hurt, both physically and in any other way possible. Dean swallowed and looked up at him frowning.

"No, but you will be, if you don't answer my friggin` question!"

The angel cocked his head and lowered his eyebrows.

"Lucifer has taken presence in your brother. He won't rise before the merging is complete, but it is too late to save Sam..."

"That's not true." Dean said hoarsely, his lips quivering.

"I am telling you a kind of truth now, Dean. The truth is; I am unsure of what to do. Certain things ceased to be clear the moment you first kissed me. I have failed you, this I know." The angel paused, looking at Dean like he was begging him to understand.

Dean vaguely shook his head, eyes no longer seeing Castiel, as he dragged himself up on his feet, legs shaking underneath him.

"I have to find Sam."

"It's too late…"

"It's never too late. I won't accept that, and there's not a goddamned thing you angels can do to force me!" Dean sneered at him, before turning away.

A firm grip settled around his right wrist as he walked towards the door. Then he was pulled back, the angel's other hand roughly placed on Dean's chest pushed him back up against the wall.

"Let me go." Dean wheezed through gritted teeth.

Castiel closed his eyes before opening them again with the same almost begging expression. "Unfortunately, I have acquired a bad habit of doing just that. Not this time, Dean."

He paused, trying to find the right words, but there were no words he knew of that could fully carry what he wanted to say, especially since Dean couldn't even bring himself to look at him.

"Please, Dean."

"What?"

Dean's chest was swelling with wrath. He had to feel something and anger was the easiest emotion he could think of. If he didn't hate the angel who was holding him, he might break down and he couldn't afford that. Not this time.

The angel softened, now barely putting any pressure on the body clamped between him and the cold wall.

"Forgive me." The voice sounded choked, and so naked, that Dean automatically looked up at him.

There were tears on the angel's tilted face, tears that were slowly running down until they reached the corner of his lips and fell to the floor.

Castiel was crying.

For a moment they just stood there, loosely holding the other, looking each other in the eyes. Hazel and Prussian, meeting at a place so deep inside them, it was so difficult let go.

"Forgive me Dean, for I know not what to do."

Castiel swallowed, looking almost as lost as Dean did after he had watched his mother hopelessly clinging to his father's body, when the angel came for him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Everything had changed.

The desperate need for comfort that Dean had once so sought was now reflected back at him from the face of the angel that had been supposed to provide it.


	4. A babe in your woods

**_Disclaimer: Like last time; I don`t own it, I don`t profit from it! All honor goes to Kripke (and his amazing writers)!_**

* * *

Chapter IV

**a Babe in his Woods**

… … …

_Better to choke_

_As two embracing lovers_

_Than to live through eternity_

_In the forest of foes and rot_

_Alone_

_Starving in the rain_

… … …

Dean did the only thing he could think of;

He kissed Castiel, let him sink into his arms and supported his weight as they both sunk back down to the floor. The angel was right. There was no easy way out of this. No amount of foolish heroism could make things the way they used to be.

He was in over his head in a mess that threatened not only them, but the entire world of souls out there. In a way Dean knew it all was his fault. If he had only been stronger and stopped Sam before it got as far as it did, things might have ended up differently. In the end it still came down to the only option his father had given him. Kill Sammy. Once Dean had thought he could never go through with it. Now he knew that if he had to kill them both, to save Sam's soul, he would. Yet still he lingered with the angel in his arms. Not just because of the comfort it brought him, or the peace, but also because each second they held on to each other, was a second more he had in which there needed to be made no decisions, no sacrifice. It was one last moment where the pain could be subdued. If he let go, he'd have to go out there, out there to find Sammy.

The mouth of the angel tasted so sweet and the soothing smell of him lingered in Dean's nostrils, hiding the stench of blood and fear that lay deeply rooted in the empty room. They kissed almost desperately, clinging to each other, fingers clawing into the fabric of clothes separating them. There was no path of escape from the sword hanging over them. The only thing not yet torn apart was the well of emotions that fueled their movements, moving their hands, beating in their chests. It was billowing almost painfully inside, making the heart ache almost to the point of bursting, and the only way to soothe the pain was to keep touching, keep kissing. The warm skin against his palms was a shelter to everything on the other side of the body he was clinging on to, almost forcefully.

Castiel broke free of the kiss in a sudden movement and heaved for air. He fought to regain control, before turning his face back towards Dean, who was sitting there breathing unevenly. The angel's hands were wrapped in the leather coat. He loosened one and lifted it up towards Dean's face, tracing the line of the lifted brow, following the perfect curve of it with his finger.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever touched." He spoke the words in a low, dark voice.

Dean spread his lips to throw a witty remark back at the angel, but his voice had disappeared and no words came up to the surface. There was really nothing he could say. Or so at least he thought. It came out before he could stop himself.

"I… I need you. Here."

He swallowed, as the angel looked away.

"I know, Dean. And I will be."

What the hell did he mean by that?

"You'll stay with me? What are your bosses gonna say, huh?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"That does not concern me anymore."

"Right", Dean said.

There was almost the shadow of a faint smile on his face, but it was replaced by sorrow as he settled his head on Castiel`s shoulder. The faint memory of having done the same before, in another setting, reached his mind.

"What are we supposed to do…?"

He almost whispered.

The angel didn't know what to say. He drew a deep breath, resting his cheek against the soft hair on Dean's head.

* * *

Pale moonlight shone down through black branches, hitting the cold stone-wall that belonged to the old monastery hidden in darkness by the forest surrounding it. The ground was still frozen and it creaked sharply in the silence when a pair of black high-heeled boots moved in long steps across it. The woman was tall and slender, carrying a broad-bladed axe on her narrow shoulder. Her hips moved almost seductively as she reached the arched entrance, guarded by one of the minions that had followed Him out there. The other demon sniggered when he saw the axe, but bowed humbly as she came towards him. The woman smiled shrewdly with lips painted in bright scarlet.

"Humans have funny big toys. You want it?"

He looked up at her and returned the smile somewhat hesitantly.

The axe fell with a clatter near his feet and she disappeared through the entrance as he slowly bent down to pick it up.

..

When she reached the main chamber she found Him standing near the centre of it. An overgrown statue stood hovering high above the stone floor, looking down at them with a very human expression on its face. She stopped a few feet away and almost held her breath as He turned around, meeting her gaze behind the expressionless face of Sam Winchester.

"My dear. My master."

"Lilith."

The word was dragged through strained lips, like if it pained him to speak with a human voice.

She bowed down before him.

"You have risen. It has begun."

"I have not risen."

Plain disgust showed audibly his voice now.

"This human flesh taints me. My vessel is unfinished. Where is the other one? The blood of this human that I am wearing."

Lilith hesitated.

"He will be dealt with, my dear. I have sent him a gift."

Lucifer gave her an otherworldly glare. Power radiated from him in waves.

"He is needed. If your hounds…"

"You have risen… The prophecy…"

He raised a hand and she fell painfully to her knees.

"Prophecies... There is no such thing as a prophecy. Only weak creatures and foolish little angels believe in such nonsense. And if you ever interrupt me again, I will scorch your essence into dust."

He took a step towards her, almost awkwardly staggering.

"If your beasts have taken the other one, I will see to it that you are rewarded thoroughly for your services. Then your prophecy will indeed be fulfilled."

Lilith raised her head and the prominent green eyes of her human vessel met his.

"I will stop them. I will stop them, my lord."

"No. You shall stay here by my side. This vessel is not what I was promised. Your pet failed. There is no strength. Only blood and flesh. I cannot abide by this flesh…"

He stretched Sam's hands out in front of him and curled the bloody fingers into claws.

"My lord." The voice was male.

Lilith turned around saw a shadow standing near the doorway. There was a distinct feeling to him and she could sense who he was.

Lucifer straightened the tall body he possessed and almost curiously tilted his head.

"Leave. Seek out the human, bring him here."

Lilith`s eyes filled with anger, before they disappeared up towards the top of her head so that only the white showed.

"You'd send him?"

Lucifer turned away without looking at her.

"This statue… It does not please me."

He walked out of the room and into an inner sanctum, leaving her on her knees, on the cold floor.

* * *

An open bag lay on the ground next to the impala. Dean pulled out several bottles and wrapped them in an old paper. He placed them in one of the bag's pockets, and then retrieved more items from the trunk. It was difficult to see anything in the darkness as the open hood blocked for the moonlight, so he held a short flashlight in his right hand. The car had been demon-proofed in any way Cass had known, so that when the angel returned they would be ready to leave. Dean had parked the car outside of an empty church, having seen the need to refill his supplies.

The hair on the back of his neck suddenly rose. Dean could taste fear in his mouth and turned abruptly around. There was nothing in the dark alley, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him. His pulse sped up. The bag was out of reach so he slid a hand behind his back, and pulled the shotgun out of the trunk. He walked slowly towards the shadows, trying to breathe as silently as possible, holding the shotgun up at waisthight.

Then a loud growling reached his ears and Dean could almost feel how his heart stopped. Something was stuck in his throat and cold terror shot through the body from the base of his skull.

"Oh, no..." He uttered the word with a hint of panic in the low voice. The growling was all too familiar.

He swung around, only to find that the growling now came from in front of him.

The hellhounds were between him and the Impala.

Dean walked backwards slowly while holding his breath, still with the shotgun raised like if it could really do any harm against the creatures that had already killed him once. The growling increased and claws scraped against the asphalt as they shot forward in the darkness towards him.

He turned around and ran through the alley, stopping at a door near the end.

It was locked, so he kicked it open. It burst from its hinges as he splintered the wood around the lock with his boot. He could almost smell them as he jumped inside and ran down a dark hallway, until he reached a pair of double doors. The unlocked doors were made of dark polished oak, and he violently slammed them shut behind him. He looked desperately around and realized that he was actually inside the main church chamber. For a moment he felt relief, but it was replaced with panic as he realized it wouldn't really make a difference.

"Hellhounds... Why did it have to be Hellhounds? God, I hate those nasty sons of bitches..." Dean growled vehemently.

He closed his eyes and kept his back pressed firmly against the doors. The memory of their last encounter surfaced in his mind, and he took a deep breath. He could almost feel the pain of invisible claws tearing him apart and the weight of his own intestines hanging outside of his body. He exhaled slowly, trying to push back the fear threatening to rip away his self-control. The growling was back right outside of the doors behind him.

They burst open as something heavy slammed against them on the other side. Dean was thrown forward, landing on his stomach. The shotgun fell from his hands and slid on the glossy floor up under a bench several feet away from him. He flipped over to his back and crawled on the elbows, until another bench stopped him from getting further away from the claws that scratched large marks in the floor in front of him.

When the invisible creatures charged towards him, Dean closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain.

It never came.

Something bright lit up the room, only for a few seconds.

He opened his eyes, shaking uncontrollably.

The amount of adrenalin in his body made it difficult to breathe.

"Cass?" He asked hoarsely, feeling the relief washing over him.

But it wasn't Castiel that stood on the floor in front of him. It was someone that he hadn't actually met before.

"Be silent, human." The angel looked down upon him with something quite similar to contempt in the grey eyes.

Dean shifted his gaze towards the door and saw another angel standing in the doorway. This one looked younger, though that was probably just Dean judging the angel by his vessel.

The newcomer calmly stepped forwards. He shot a quick glance at the Virgin Mary statue by the opposite wall before turning to the other angel.

"Michael."

Michael, as that was obviously his name, looked at Dean and sighed.

"This was not supposed to happen."

Dean swallowed, and realized that he was still lying halfway on the floor. The angel continued. "If Castiel had not broken the rule he was given, then you would not have been in a position where the attack could have occurred, and therefore we would not have had to intervene."

"Right, well, I am so sorry that you were forced to save my life. Now, seriously, who the hell are you?" Dean snorted, and got to his feet.

Something flared violently in the angel's eyes.

Dean almost expected Michael to take that last step between them. Then he heard a third voice from a place somewhere directly behind him. "Dean."

Castiel came up from behind the other row of benches. Raphael raised his head and nodded in his direction. There was a moment of awkward silence when Dean's guardian angel joined them.

"You almost got your foolish human killed." Michael said coldly.

"What was it?" Castiel asked silently.

"Hell hounds."

Castiel looked down, and then turned towards Dean.

"I am sorry."

Dean did a small nonchalant movement with his shoulders and straightened up.

"No problem… I had it all under control."

Michael lifted his chin, frowning at Dean with a levered eyebrow. In the background, Raphael seemed to be smiling. The humor almost fit the somewhat boyish face.

Dean frowned.

"I did!"

* * *

**Thanks to those that have reviewed the story thus far :)  
**


	5. the Definition of Mercy

_Disclaimer: Supernatural universe, not mine, not profit from this I do!_

* * *

Chapter V

**the Definition of Mercy**

… … …

Dean drove as far above the speed limit as he could without blowing the engines. They had left the interstate hours ago and were now on an unmarked road. A part of him didn't want to find Sam, so he stepped on the gas-pedal in an attempt to deafen that little voice in the back of his head begging him to slow down. Castiel turned his head slowly. There was a look of seriousness and determination on Dean's face that almost unnerved the angel, whose lips were slightly apart like if he wanted to say something. Dean noticed the stare and shot a quick glance at Castiel. He could tell from the expression in the blue eyes that the angel read the emotions off his face like if he had been an open book. A few months ago that knowledge would have made Dean very uncomfortable. He took a deep breath.

"Where were you?" He asked carefully.

Castiel hesitated.

"I asked for guidance. There are still some I can trust."

"What about that sack of crap, Michael? He didn't seem too bad…"

"I do not trust Michael."

Dean gave him a second glance.

"Troubled waters?"

"Not really. It should be sufficient to say that we do not always see eye to eye on certain subjects. He takes his assignments very seriously, but his interpretation can differ considerably from most others. He often, like you say; do it by the book, literarily. "

Dean did that sideways nod combined with the raising of an eyebrow, and smiled faintly. "You know, he did remind me a bit of the old you, only with a bit less innocence and a tad more heavenly wrath!"

Replying only with a slight frown on his face, Castiel sat silently observing the landscape for several minutes, until they passed a curve, now following a long straight road with black forest on one side and lowered fields on the other. He raised his chin a little and nodded towards a narrow road almost hidden on their left. Dean stepped on the breaks, slowing it down almost to the stopping-point, and made a slow turn onto the old gravel road. Tall dark trees hovered above the Impala as they drove into the darkness of the forest on each side of the road. It was almost on the brink of morning and the moonlight was fading behind grey clouds, heavy with rain just slightly above the yellowing pale horizon behind them. The heaven above the forest they were driving in was still dark blue, and a few stars could be glinted in between the black trees.

… ... **...**

They reached the yard outside of an old farmhouse, which had white paint flaking off the walls, mash and weed growing on and through the tiles near the entrance door.

"Is this the place? It looks a little empty." Dean snorted, as they left the car.

"This is not the place." Castiel replied silently.

"Then what the friggin` hell are we doing here?"

He couldn't help but getting angry. The place looked deserted and he was tired of wasting time. Castiel looked around with an almost confused expression on his face. He then turned towards Dean, who raised his eyebrows expectantly at him.

"Well?"

The angel sighed.

"We need to prepare."

"What are you talkin`about? We are prepared! God dammit, we've done nothing but preparing since we left that town. I need to find Sam, now!"

Dean whirled away from him, momentarily incapable of controlling the words that came from his mouth. He swore loudly, before stopping with his hands hanging loosely down his sides.

Castiel lowered his gaze.

"Dean."

The word came out patiently, filled with the understanding he felt at the other man's expressed anger.

Dean looked at him and lowered his arms, letting them hang limply at his sides. The pain drew deep lines on his face and the hazel eyes were going blank at the sight of the angel, whose face reflected back at him the emotions Dean had been trying to subdue ever since Sam had disappeared from the old hunter's house.

"You need to be prepared for what lies ahead. Your brother is on the other side of that forest. This is all I know. They couldn't tell me what to expect. We are wandering about in the night, blind and unknowing. Let us go inside, you need to calm down and get some rest."

…

The house was empty. White linen sheets covered the furniture and it looked almost too clean. Dean walked slowly into the huge livingroom. The wall on the opposite side consisted almost only of wide arched windows, and he could see a field through a clearing in the trees on the other side of the garden. Castiel entered the room. Dean turned around and stiffened by the look in his face. The angel seemed unusually tense.

"What's wrong?"

Castiel frowned.

"I am not sure."

He appeared distant for a moment, before moving away from Dean. There was a mirror to their right, almost covered by another white sheet. Something red had dried in small circular spots next to it. Dean clenched his jaw and drew the gun out from under his jacket. As they moved towards it, the door next to the mirror opened, and a familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

"Michael." Castiel addressed him calmly. "How did you know?"

The older-looking angel with the grey eyes looked back at him. His hands were stretched out towards them, covered in blood. Dean frowned slightly. There was too much of it. The red liquid guttered from somewhere under his sleeves, and his usually sharp glare had gone dull and empty.

"Uh, Cass…"

The knees failed under the angel and he fell slowly down against the cold linoleum. There was a burst of white light spreading in the room, which blinded them. When he could see the floor clearly again, black shadows shaped as wings had spread across the floor and a wall, the tip of one wing almost reaching his feet.

Castiel blinked and raised his glare towards the open door. Raphael was standing there, staring at the dead angel with a look of great sadness on his face. He stepped over the dead body and pulled the sheet off the mirror with an almost unnoticeable movement. A series of circular symbols which joined in the middle was painted in blood all over the reflecting surface. Castiel shifted his stare back to the other angel's face, and frowned slightly, before he broke the silence that hung over the room.

"I don't understand… Why did you see to it that Dean was given back his knife, and why did you seek out the boy?"

It felt almost like worse of a betrayal; knowing that it was the angel of healing and hope that was now standing in front of them as a traitor against God.

"I know when I'm being watched, my brother. I can feel an angel's essence miles from where his soul rests. As for the boy… It was important to me that the choice was made in truth." Raphael sighed.

"Truth…? Right… You're nothing but a treacherous scheming son of a bitch like all the rest of your buddies." Dean sneered.

The angel ignored the remark in order to focus all his attention on Castiel, who had taken a step towards him. They were staring at each other, almost sadly.

"Why would you betray us, Raphael? Why you? You have always shown a sort of compassion for humans. I was intrigued by them, but you…" He hesitated. Angels didn't love. They didn't feel, not in human standards. Not like Castiel had learned to do only recently.

Raphael raised a hand and pulled some of the fringe away from his vessel's forehead. It was a very human motion, of which the angel didn't quite seem to be aware of. He lowered it again and pulled a small knife out from the belt. His tone was filled with fatigue and disillusion.

"Because I know the human soul, brother, much better than you do, or ever will, despite your love for one of them. I know how deep their destructive nature runs, and the intensity of their hate. Humanity has been my assignment for thousands of years and I have seen how they destroy others and themselves so horribly slowly. There is not enough humanity left to heal. The apocalypse will be a more merciful ending, a cleansing which will help the pure and the innocent to pass on from this world of suffering." He shook his head and raised his gaze. "God committed a cruel crime when he created the human species. His spark ignited emotions so deeply conflicting, that it's eating the soul from their flesh..."

Dean snorted, and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, aren't you a glass half full?"

Raphael lowered his gaze, and settled it on Dean's face.

"You call me a traitor, yet you betray yourself every day. Tell me, have you for a single moment truly wanted to be alive today? If you didn't have Castiel, and believe me; he will be taken from you, and if your brother was dead, which he soon will be, would you have kept on going? Yes, you would have, but only because you're now too afraid not to. Be truthful with yourself, human. The only thing in this life that you desire more than pain, is for the pain to end."

Dean swallowed.

"That's not true."

The angel smiled weakly.

"Is it not? This was not even the worst truth you could have been given. If you looked deeply enough into your own darkened soul you would see that a broken part of you even long for your own brothers death. Without him, you could let go."

"Stop…" Castiel growled, and took another step forward. He threw a quick glance at Dean, who was standing very still with a somewhat shaken expression on his face.

Raphael turned to the other angel. He sighed and raised the knife to his vessel's wrist.

"I am truly sorry, my friend."

Castiel`s eyes widened. He had only managed to turn halfway towards Dean when Raphael's blood dripped down on the blank surface. Another bright flash of light exploded in the room. Dean watched as the angel was forced back, disappearing as the light fully hit him. Raphael had kneeled down with his hand on the mirror to anchor himself from being pulled away by the light. He rose and wiped the blood off on his dark jacket. Looking up, he noticed that Dean had raised the gun and was now pointing it at the angel's face.

"Dean Winchester. Your presence in needed."

Hell if it was. Dean squeezed the trigger in pure spite. The bullet it the angel square in the forehead, but he barely flinched as he walked forwards, unnervingly calm.

"What did you do to him, you bastard? If he's hurt I will seriously kill you, so help me God!"

"He's not dead."

The angel was now standing right in front of him, the barrel of the gun touching his chest. Dean's nostrils quivered, and he drew a quick breath. He just didn't get it.

"This is unbelievable. You're helping them end the world and gank the entire human race, just because angel boy can't deal with a little pain?"

Raphael bent his head a little forward and pushed the gun out of his way as he came even closer. He looked Dean in the eyes, thoroughly invading his personal space, and said in a condescending voice;

"I wouldn't expect a human to really understand pain. You have only had to deal with your own. Imagine drowning in the cries of billions."

As the angel's hand was raised towards Dean's face, the pulse in Dean's throat sped up and he felt the heart pump wildly in his chest. The angel stretched out two fingers and gently tapped them on his wrinkled forehead. As they touched his skin, Dean lost all sense of feeling and fell limply to the floor. Outside, on the other side of the glass windows, the sun rose from the horizon and Raphael blinked as beams of light hit his eyes in a way that gave the deep brown an almost reddish tint.


End file.
